and hope an email has fixed all of our problems
I’m going to fight for her.
***
I don’t know what I’m doing.
One second I’m standing in my bedroom, staring at my hands and telling myself that I need to fight for Cat before it’s too late, and the next I find myself outside, my coat on, running down the street to god-knows-where. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’m heading to Cat’s house, the one place where I can always go to, the one place where I’m always safe.
And I’m going back.
The air is thick and misty as I run, and the smell of fallen leaves is everywhere. I gulp in some fresh air, clearing my head. I try not to think about what a horrible idea this is or even what I’m going to say to Cat, because I know that no matter what, I have to see her again, know that I can’t go without her any longer. It’s only been a day away from her, but it feels like eternity has come and gone, like she ran off with a part of me and I need to get it back.
I need to get her back.
My legs carry me all the way there , and I slow my pace as I reach her house.
This late at night i t’s dark outside, really dark, but I can still see my surroundings clearly in the moonlight. The houses on her street form a neat line, each of them looking so perfectly white it’s like they’ve never been used. Immediately, my gaze shifts to Cat’s driveway. It’s almost like instinct, but I just know she is there.
I shove my hands deep in to my pockets and walk slowly toward the driveway. The darkness keeps me hidden most of the way, and slowly, the nerves sink back in. When I finally reach the driveway, the motion sensor lights go off, bathing the area in a bright yellowish light. I look around.
I find Cat crouching by the side of her Dad’s Mercedes like she always is, focusing her gaze on the car door. A brush is in her hand as she applies a fresh coat of red paint to its side.
I stop walking, listening to the distant echo of my footfalls throughout the neighborhood. Cat is only a few feet in front of me, still painting away as if she isn’t seeing me, but we both know she’s aware of my presence. I take another breath. A cloud of freezing air forms in front of my face and dissolves into nothingness almost immediately. I don’t realize how cold it is until now, and a shiver races down my spine.
Finally, Cat’s eyes shift from the car to my face , and my breath completely catches. In only twenty-four hours, I managed to forget how beautiful she was. I shift uncomfortably on my feet as soon as the thought crosses my mind.
I can’t be thinking that.
But yet, I am.
The whole neighborhood is deathly silent, like we’re the only two people left in the world.
“Hi,” I breathe.
She stares at me, those blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “Hi,” is all she says back, the paint brush still clenched in her hand. I watch as beads of red slip from the end of the brush and seep onto the ground below, making an almost inaudible pat, pat, pat .
There’s a long pause, and it’s in that instant—that single, unsmiling, heartbreakingly empty breath—that I realize how far apart we’ve grown. I step forward and hesitate, unsure of what to say but sure I have to say it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
For a second, nothing happens. Cat just looks at me, letting her paintbrush slip from her fingers until it clatters onto the driveway below, sending drops of red paint everywhere. Then, as if on cue, she laughs—a total, pissed-off kind of laugh. “Wow, that was incredibly creative and impressive, West,” she says absently. “I’m glad you know how to make a girl feel so special.”
A twinge of hurt shoots through me, but I shake it off, because I deserved that.
I take another step forward. Cat’s house sits to our right, and I’m distinctly aware of how dark it is—the only light is from the motion sensor, which illuminates her pale face. “You know I mean it.”
“Do I?”
“You do,” I say,
I’m going to fight for her.
***
I don’t know what I’m doing.
One second I’m standing in my bedroom, staring at my hands and telling myself that I need to fight for Cat before it’s too late, and the next I find myself outside, my coat on, running down the street to god-knows-where. It takes me a few seconds to realize I’m heading to Cat’s house, the one place where I can always go to, the one place where I’m always safe.
And I’m going back.
The air is thick and misty as I run, and the smell of fallen leaves is everywhere. I gulp in some fresh air, clearing my head. I try not to think about what a horrible idea this is or even what I’m going to say to Cat, because I know that no matter what, I have to see her again, know that I can’t go without her any longer. It’s only been a day away from her, but it feels like eternity has come and gone, like she ran off with a part of me and I need to get it back.
I need to get her back.
My legs carry me all the way there , and I slow my pace as I reach her house.
This late at night i t’s dark outside, really dark, but I can still see my surroundings clearly in the moonlight. The houses on her street form a neat line, each of them looking so perfectly white it’s like they’ve never been used. Immediately, my gaze shifts to Cat’s driveway. It’s almost like instinct, but I just know she is there.
I shove my hands deep in to my pockets and walk slowly toward the driveway. The darkness keeps me hidden most of the way, and slowly, the nerves sink back in. When I finally reach the driveway, the motion sensor lights go off, bathing the area in a bright yellowish light. I look around.
I find Cat crouching by the side of her Dad’s Mercedes like she always is, focusing her gaze on the car door. A brush is in her hand as she applies a fresh coat of red paint to its side.
I stop walking, listening to the distant echo of my footfalls throughout the neighborhood. Cat is only a few feet in front of me, still painting away as if she isn’t seeing me, but we both know she’s aware of my presence. I take another breath. A cloud of freezing air forms in front of my face and dissolves into nothingness almost immediately. I don’t realize how cold it is until now, and a shiver races down my spine.
Finally, Cat’s eyes shift from the car to my face , and my breath completely catches. In only twenty-four hours, I managed to forget how beautiful she was. I shift uncomfortably on my feet as soon as the thought crosses my mind.
I can’t be thinking that.
But yet, I am.
The whole neighborhood is deathly silent, like we’re the only two people left in the world.
“Hi,” I breathe.
She stares at me, those blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “Hi,” is all she says back, the paint brush still clenched in her hand. I watch as beads of red slip from the end of the brush and seep onto the ground below, making an almost inaudible pat, pat, pat .
There’s a long pause, and it’s in that instant—that single, unsmiling, heartbreakingly empty breath—that I realize how far apart we’ve grown. I step forward and hesitate, unsure of what to say but sure I have to say it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
For a second, nothing happens. Cat just looks at me, letting her paintbrush slip from her fingers until it clatters onto the driveway below, sending drops of red paint everywhere. Then, as if on cue, she laughs—a total, pissed-off kind of laugh. “Wow, that was incredibly creative and impressive, West,” she says absently. “I’m glad you know how to make a girl feel so special.”
A twinge of hurt shoots through me, but I shake it off, because I deserved that.
I take another step forward. Cat’s house sits to our right, and I’m distinctly aware of how dark it is—the only light is from the motion sensor, which illuminates her pale face. “You know I mean it.”
“Do I?”
“You do,” I say,
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